


The Beachhouse

by echomoon



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Mpreg Sort Of, Outdoor Sex, Oviposition, Suicide, Trauma, merman!penny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echomoon/pseuds/echomoon
Summary: Quentin has a spontaneous night of passion with a mysterious merman, and goes through Some Shit.





	The Beachhouse

**Author's Note:**

> so this started off as ovi porn for an FTB friend that i started writing while drunk and then turned in to trauma filled angst. the character death tag is in no way a joke, be prepared for that. if i need to add any tags, let me know. and as always, you can catch us on the ftb discord at https://discord.gg/fuBn4a

Quentin had no idea how to explain how he got into this situation. He had just wanted to swim on the beach, some half deserted cove that Eliot and Margo had rented out for the break. he got bored of the nonstop party, wanted some time alone.

How maybe he got curious about the strange flashes happening over on the other side of a far away rock. Maybe he was still a little drunk from the party and decided to go over there. But how did that end with a merman fucking him?

But shit, was the merman hot. His fin was this dark, oil slick color, turning into dark tan skin where he started looking human. Short, wild hair, scruffy beard, hot as fuck in general... you can't blame Quentin for his arousal. The merman certainly didn't. When he approached the merman, he hadn’t gotten much of a response. Just a dark, heavy look that somehow didn't mar his features. But Quentin was stupid and kept approaching.

He hadn't expected the merman to touch his face, his bare chest, then pull Quentin’s hand towards his own face. And when Quentin touched him, he pulled him into a kiss. A ridiculously hot kiss. Quentin didn't even protest, just let his hand roam the merman’s body, over his ridiculously toned body, into his scruffy hair. The merman pulled him into the water, not letting him out of the kiss, and for a second Quentin worried he was about to be drowned, but instead the merman just led him to another alcove, shielded from waves by rocks. He pushed Quentin against a rock, and Quentin watched his tail settle from swimming to down against him. And then he moved into Quentin’s space, crowding him against the rock, leaving Quentin with nowhere to go, and Quentin could feel the smoothness of his tail against his legs. And something else. Fuck, apparently even mermen have dicks - this merman’s was starting to poke out against Quentin, against his crotch, and Quentin was overwhelmed with the need to have it inside him.

He reaches down, grabs it, feels it grow larger in his hand. It wasn't like a human dick - it felt longer, more weirdly angular, somehow, but that didn’t stop him from jacking it off. The merman responded by kissing his neck, his shoulder, giving him small bites with its inhumanly sharp teeth, Quentin knew any second he could have his throat ripped out, and that just made it hotter.

He stopped his ministrations - and the merman gave him such an affronted look, Quentin almost laughed - and wiggled out of his swimsuit, cast a quick lubrication spell on himself, and wrapped his legs around him. The merman seemed to understand what he wanted, positioned them so he could penetrate Quentin properly, and fuck.

Fuck, the merman didn't understand the concept of taking it slow, just thrust into Quentin like it was nothing, filling him and stretching him and overwhelming him, wild in his drive, rutting against Quentin like a beast in heat. Which, was probably what he was. Quentin let himself get lost in the motion, let the pleasure build up in him, giving in to the lust with wild abandon. He’d never felt so full before, never felt so primal. He pulls the merman into another wild kiss. Their hands grip and scratch at each other, marking each other’s bodies. The merman hasn’t even touched his dick, but he comes anyway, strong and fast. But there merman isn’t finished, still thrusting into him.

It's when he starts to slow down that things get weird. He starts to feel a strange fullness inside of him, more than just from the merman’s dick. He starts to panic for a second, tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but the merman just bares his teeth at him, and lurches forward, and everything fades to black.

 

When he wakes up, its to the rays of the morning sun. He’s back on the beach, the area behind Eliot and Margo’s rented house, far enough away from the waves that they can’t pull him back in, but close enough that he’s soaked with sea water. And completely naked.

When he tries to sit up, his whole body screams in pain, especially his stomach. And when he looks down, his abdomen is swollen, and tender to touch. He lies back down, stares at the sky, and decides to just lay there until he can work up the energy to cast something for Margo or Eliot to find him. 

 

* * *

 

“You fucked a mermaid.” Margo says, for the second time, the same judgemental expression on her face.

“Yes, Margo, we’ve established that.” Quentin says tiredly. He told them the whole story, save most of the smutty details, let their judgement wash over him. He was too tired to be embarrassed, too sore. He’s laying on the couch, wrapped in one of Eliot’s silk robes, having discovered that he can’t stand the weight of his own body long enough to actually stand, for some reason. The soreness of his swollen abdomen is fading, and with it some of the strange heaviness and vertigo, but not enough for him to even sit up yet.

“If we wanted someone fucking magical creatures on this vacation, we would’ve brought Josh.” she says, and stomps towards the kitchen, banging around the cupboards.

“Q, darling,” Eliot says as she leaves, bending down and resting a hand on Quentin’s forehead. “I’m maybe judging you a little, not going to lie. But the issue here is, what are you going to do about  _ that _ .”

He points to Quentin’s stomach; Quentin just gives him a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“...Honey. What do you actually know about merpeople?” Eliot looks almost ruffled, which just panics Quentin.

“Muggle myths, mostly? We haven’t covered creatures beyond the dead stuff for ingredients.”

“Shit, you’re right. That’s third year stuff. Okay, I need to go talk to Margo. Don’t - don’t panic. We’ll fix this.” Eliot says, and bolts into the kitchen. 

“Fix what? Eliot? Eliot!”

 

* * *

 

So it turns out Quentin is pregnant. Sort of. He’s carrying the merman’s eggs, like some kind of fucked up human seahorse. He should hate it, be angry that he got drunkenly roped into this, that his body is being used for something it isn’t supposed to be and the merman didn’t even ask. And he is mad, sort of. But mostly he just wants to go back into the ocean.

Apparently it's some kind of instinct thing, wanting to be floating. It's why he can barely stand, why he feels so much heavier even with the added weight of the eggs. They stick him in the hot tub, spell it to be filled with ocean water, and that helps a little. But while the floating helps, being out here alone while Eliot and Margo are in emergency mode inside and not talking to him is irritating. So he does something stupid again.

He gets out of the hot tub, slowly makes his way back down to the cove, gets far enough into the water to soothe his aches. The actual ocean is so much better than the tub. He floats on his back, lets the waves move him, not even caring that his friends are going to worry.

Arms circle his chest, the smooth scales of a tail brush against his legs, and he knows with suddenly clarity that the merman from last night is back.

“Hey!” he yells, tries to push away from him, but the man’s arms are holding him too tightly. “Get off me!”

The merman… chirps. Quentin whips his head to the side trying to look at the merman’s face, because what the heck kind of noise was that even, but only succeeds in smacking him with his head. The merman bares its teeth again and lets go.

Quentin holds his hands up, hoping the merman will recognize the surrender and not attack or something. He looks at Quentin curiously, tilting his head. It’s almost cute. He lets out a series of clicks, and Quentin realizes that he’s trying to talk to him.

“Look, I can’t understand you.” Quentin says, and the merman tilts his head again. “Shit, you probably can’t understand me either. Just, why -”

“QUENTIN!” Margo’s furious voice rings out. Quentin cringes. “GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WATER, NOW!”

Quentin turns back to the merman, not sure what to say, but he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

Quentin comes back the next day. He wades in the shallow tide and stares out into the horizon. It doesn’t take long for the merman to show up again. He’s more cautious in approaching him this time, out in the deeper water. He lets the merman embrace him, knows he should be freaked out by all of this, but the eggs inside of him are just making him accepting of it all.

The merman is affectionate, which is not really something Quentin thought normal of its species after the run down he got from Eliot. He runs his hands through Quentin’s hair, down his body, settles on his swollen stomach, like he was checking him over. And then he grabs both sides of Quentin’s head, pulls him forward, but instead of kissing him he presses their foreheads together.

And then he speaks.

_ Brood, safe. _ He says, and Quentin realizes that it’s happening telepathically, coming across in flashes of images more than words. 

“Who - ?” Quentin starts, and cuts himself off, trying to figure out how to do it back.  _ Who are you? Why me? _

_ Penny _ , the merman replies first, sending him flashes of copper taste and rusty coins, then, with images of baby mermaids hatching, impossibly tiny,  _ Broodmother _ . 

“Oh.” Quentin says, and sends,  _ Quentin _ .

_ Quentin _ , Penny repeats, sending flashes of Q’s own memories, of him growing up, but also flashes of their night together. Penny chirps again, moving his hands up around Quentin’s neck, holding him closer. Quentin clings to Penny, laughing at the juxtaposition of memories. 

He feels safe here, wrapped around Penny, though it’s probably a side effect of whatever is making him so calm about the pregnancy thing. And he knows Margo and Eliot will be out here soon, to pry him away from the water, away from Penny, away from this feeling of belonging. They had been trying to convince him to remove the eggs inside him, to stay away from the water, and he knows they mean well, but all he wants is this feeling of safety, to explore whatever this is with Penny, who kept coming back for him.

Quentin pushes the feeling of belonging at Penny, who chirps back in response, swimming them around in a circle. They float like that for a while, until Quentin hears the voices of his friends yelling for him and tries to pull away, go back to the shore.

Penny won’t let him go, at first, until he pushes images of his friends at him, and when he does let go, he follow Quentin up to the shore, to the parts so shallow he’s basically writhing on the ground. Quentin has to push him back into the water, stuck by the sudden fear that his friend would hurt him if they saw him.

 

* * *

 

He sneaks out every day for the next week, despite their attempts to keep him in the house, culminating in them locking him in with magic that he can’t break. All he wants is to be with Penny, to be in the ocean, to feel his lover’s hands touch him, to feel that wonderful belonging that overwhelms him when he and Penny touch minds. He pleads with them, tries to get them to understand, but all they can do is try to convince him to abort the eggs, to free himself of the compulsion that came with them. As if it was a compulsion! It was love, the connection he and Penny had. Their bonding may have been sudden chance, but it was meant to be.

He manages to escape after three days. They were sloppy in not leaving a guard to watch him while they went to get food, having stayed at the beach house much longer than planned once Quentin’s situation came into play. He tears apart the wards keeping him locked in the house, runs down to the beach, hoping Penny is waiting there for him, hoping Penny doesn’t think he abandoned him.

He dives into the water, swims frantically around trying to find him, but as he gets deeper out he’s struck with pain. Unimaginable pain, at his abdomen, like his body trying to fold in on itself, like he’s being stabbed by a hundred blades, like… something large is trying to force its way out of him. Shit, he’s going into labor, or however it works with the eggs. As the pain worsens, as he screams, Penny appears, embraces him. 

The eggs leave him, one by one, but Penny doesn’t let go. He passes out in his arms as the last one leaves his body.

When he wakes up, he’s on the shore, alone.

 

* * *

 

“Quentin, oh my god.” Eliot says. 

He can hear them trying to run through the sand, slow and slippery footsteps, shifting sand. He’s been laying out for who knows how long, staring at the sky again. Always staring at the sky, listening to the ocean. The urge to jump back into the water had left him, had been done when he woke up. Gone like the eggs that had been inside him, gone like Penny, whose touched he ached for. He was alone, now, abandoned, left like he was nothing. A void grows ever larger in him.

 

* * *

 

They take him up to the house, sure, fix up his body, cure his outer aches. But he just stares out the window, at the ocean; when they take him away from there he stares at nothing instead. It’s all the same, really. There’s no sign of Penny coming back, but Quentin doesn’t want to leave the space.

When they try to take him back to Brakebills, he gets violent, fights back, almost costs Margo an eye when he catches her just right; he should feel bad, but he doesn’t, just watches them leave in a hurry to get her help, not even giving him another glance. They always were each other’s first priority.

While they’re gone, not sure if they’ll ever come back, half hoping they don’t, he goes back out to the beach. He walks along the shore line, barely feeling the waves lapping at his feet, trying to catch him off balance. He swims out into the deep water, out to the cove where Penny had taken him, but finds nothing. He goes back to shore, and as he dries off, makes another stupid mistake.

He isn’t sure what he’s doing at first, just casting nothing in particular, letting the magic build up in him until it overtakes the void within him, until the buzz of it is all he can feel. And then the magic is painful, overtaking his body, and he realizes with sudden clarity that he had been casting a shapeshifting spell, trying to make himself mer. And its failing, but he’s not going niffin. It’s failing, but his body is changing. Dissolving. Breaking. He screams in pain, but almost laughs, because by dying he will be free.

 

* * *

 

There’s a spot over by the old beach across town, covered in sharp rocks and heavy tides. Its beautiful, the most scenic spot on the beach, a dream of a location. They say that it’s haunted, that a ghost lives there, mourning its lost love, its lost children. They say if you go near at sunset, the air turns dark and electrified, that you can hear its cries from miles out. But no one who goes there ever comes back.


End file.
